Numb
Is the back of my head Where her splinters quake, The daggers of vulnerability. Promises of pain, Hopes of despair. My fingertips shift against the glass As our spotlights shine as hands touch I am a dismembered ship whose Rocky touch Smoothes the shore, your cement. Our lights shine purple and blue The glass shards sting not Under my nonexistent feet. The splinters pause, The grating subdues. I am a mountain. I touch the stars. -Margo
0 Comments
So things change, apparently. And god damn does it sure suck.
My boyfriend and I ended it. Or should I say, he ended it, because he wasn't ready to be a boyfriend. And honestly, I agree, and I'd been considering ending it myself. But that doesn't mean it's easy for forget the moment I planned to ask him to Formal, the day he'd hold my hand in the school hallway, the time he'd win me a stuffed animal at a carnival. I plan too much. I wish I could be witty. I don't have enough time. I drink too much cram-grape juice. My poetry is shit. ~Margo "If you love me, let me go." -Panic! At The Disco If my heart was a house
You'd be the paint Hugging the walls and hiding my color To make me appear more welcoming You'd be the lamp In the corner of the room That gives me light to read on the couch And turns on and off with the flick of a switch You'd be the comforter Surrounding my skeleton To give me warmth in the dreadful winter And suffocate me in the endless summer You'd be the coffee pot Giving me energy for the day With a sweet bitter flavor That makes me dependent You'd be the mirror Watching me dance Admitting my tears And reflecting the fire that burns in my eyes If your heart was a house You'd be the gate And I'd be left out With a book to wait. ~Margo |
MargoMy name isn't Margo. Archives
December 2019
Categories |